


With A Single Coin

by Aladayle



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: A bag of lembas and a dream, Begins in year 2800 of the Third Age, Dragons are cool, F/M, He's just not in the first chapter, Reader is an elf, Smaug will feature heavily, no but seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aladayle/pseuds/Aladayle
Summary: You're an elf minstrel in Lothlorien who feels a call to find another audience for your songs. After consulting with Galadriel, and looking into the mirror, your mind is made up.What will you find at Lake-town?(Summary will be updated with further chapters)





	1. The Danger Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You seek the advice of Galadriel after realizing your songs would be better suited to other audiences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at writing songs. I apologize.

_Come home with me, come home to fire!_

_The noble beast has lost his fight_

_But we bless him then as now we might_

_Sup and sing and laugh with friends_

_Come home with me, come home to fire!_

_For none can know tomorrow's ends_

_Come celebrate and come to dine_

_Partake of feast and drink of wine_

_Forget the shadow that lies away_

_That seeks to blot the light of day_

_Worry not for soon or late_

_Worry more when last you ate_

_Come home with me, come home to fire!_

You went silent, smiling vaguely at the others about the fire who were watching. 

"You've been reading the dwarf-songs again, haven't you, (y/n)?" 

"Yes," you said, "They seem more lively, which I think is needed at present." 

"Why sing of forgetting the shadow?" another elf asked, "It cannot reach us here." 

"Be that as it is," you replied, "I think many could use such a reminder. The shadow, however far away, is still present." 

"It is useless to seek to beat back that which does not reach you," said yet another. "Your talents would likely be best suited for other locations, under other stresses." 

"You do make an excellent point," you replied, "But we are not encouraged to leave Lothlorien." 

Your audience moved away at that, with one or two people reassuring you of your talent. It wasn't that they didn't consider you good, it was that they did not prefer your usual choice of song style. You were more quick, thinking of the chase and the present. You could still enjoy the songs of the past, but of late you hungered for more. 

You slept, and on waking went back to your poetry. There were plenty who wrote such songs, and there was nothing special about yours...so why was there the need to expand to another sort of audience? In times like these, it might end badly. The shadow in Mirkwood had many uncertain of much travel and it was, after all, not so very far away from Lorien. 

After some weeks, you found yourself restless once again, and resolved to ask the advice of Lady Galadriel herself. 

She heard you with much patience, and seemed to consider some thought before answering, "You wish to do good to those who have need of it?" 

"I realize, my lady," you said, "That it is much to ask in this time, but..." 

"Come," she said, rising, "I would advise you, but perhaps it is best to see what the mirror has to tell." Her smile was weak, but she gave no further cues. 

"I wouldn't ask that of you," you replied, "Unless you see it as necessary." 

"I do." 

You followed her to the mirror, filled and waiting; she gestured to you, and you stood before it, looking in. 

The view in the mirror shifted. There was a town on a lake, and above it...a mountain. 

A town on the lake near a mountain? That was easy enough to guess, but then it changed again. 

There was an immediate shine, and you saw--gold? At first there were just coins, but then you saw other things, goblets, and gems, and many other things of value, each with a glittering that showed its value. But then over these things there was a large shadow cast, large almost beyond your comprehension. 

At the last second...fire. 

"What?" 

You saw yourself, standing and looking up, expression hidden by the looming shadow, and as you were beginning to look away, noticed that from the shadow's direction came a harp--kicked, or thrown, you weren't sure. 

As you stepped away, the mirror faded. After a moment's thought you turned to Galadriel. "I believe I have the answer to my question, but..." 

"But what?" 

"I don't understand why it would show me Lake-town, and what is left of Erebor," you went on. 

"Did you not say that you wished to play to those who needed to hear?" she asked. "I can well imagine that those of a town made of wood, situated so closely to a beast that breathes fire, would need encouragement." 

"Then I have your leave?" you asked. 

"It is beyond me," Galadriel answered, "To deny leave to those who wish to go, so long as they will leave in a manner that is not reckless. Your family may abuse the mere idea as such, but given your personality, I do not think they shall find it wholly unexpected." 

"I hardly expected you to view it this way," you replied, "I thank you, truly." 

"Do not thank me!" she seemed to laugh briefly, before then saying, "I have done nothing but make you more sure of your course." 

"Nonetheless, I thank you." You bowed, and took your leave.


	2. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make your preparations, and begin your journey.

### Departure

"(Y/n), I still see little sense in this." Your mother shook her head. "Erebor is on the other side of Mirkwood, and we would rather you not make such a dangerous journey." 

"The people at Lake-Town could use cheering up, though," you said quietly. "I want to help people, mother. I want to see laughter and light in eyes that need them." 

"You could see that here," came the reply, "Mirkwood is dangerous even at the best of times in these days." 

Your father nodded, perhaps a bit more gravely than your mother. "You would do better in Rivendell." 

"You would send her over the mountains?" your mother returned. 

They bandied it back and forth; the argument went well into the night. But they made you swear not to leave until, at least, they had spoken to Lady Galadriel. 

You agreed. 

* * *

And speak to her they did, though when they came back they were no less perturbed than they were before they left. 

"What did she say?" you asked. 

Your father couldn't seem to find the words. 

Your mother hugged you. "Are you sure we cannot persuade you?" 

That must be the answer, then. They got one; however, it did not look as if they liked it. 

"The road is fraught with danger. You know what happened to--" 

The more they plied you with concerns, the more you felt you had to leave. Youth likely explained that. 

"Perhaps we could persuade you to visit the court of King Thranduil?" your mother asked hopefully, "That should sate your desire for a change of scenery." 

"That does sound like a good plan," your father said, "You would be among other elves, and done right, the journey would be less dangerous." 

"Less, and more, at the same time. But there are things we can do, otherwise, to be sure you're safer." 

* * *

The preparation for your journey took a few weeks. Your parents requested, and received, a cloak from the Lady Galadriel. 

"So you can be safe," your mother said as she handed it to you. 

It felt less like a goodbye for a journey and more like... 

You shook it off and went over the supplies that they had brought you. The cloak, your bow and arrow, a knife, some _lembas_ , and a gift that had been yours when you came of age: a golden harp. 

Then you looked at what you'd brought. Supplies to fish in the river, both the Gladden and Anduin the Great; pen and ink, and a little bag of gold. You were not altogether sure that you would not meet others on the road, whether men or dwarves, but you were certain gold would be handy. 

The thought of meeting worse, you tried to put off. 

Gladden, the Old Ford, crossing Anduin, and then...then, the Forest Gate, which would put you on the path that lead to Thranduil's domain. 

Your last night in Lorien came, and your family insisted on hearing you play one last time--despite their preferences in music being altogether different, they would have it no other way. 

So you gave them your best, a song that came charging up out of nowhere like a herd of wild horses. 

_Journey long and journey late_

_I came upon the forest gate_

_and through the lengths of night I saw_

_Day beyond, and morning dawn_

_Adventure waits, and still the road_

_Calls on to me, with home behind_

_What waits for me, in wood beyond?_

_And what song in the wild calls, when_

_Gloom of night and swiftly day_

_Die and slowly pass away_

_I come to aid, I come to sing_

_I come with light and bright morning_

_To break the shadows over you_

* * *

The Forest Gate was far behind you. The road up had been oddly comfortable, and easily enough navigated, though you'd been careful not to approach the river except to fish, refill your waterskin, or to bathe. 

And you always slept with the grey cloak over top of you. 

There were lights to one side of the pathway. You could see a fire blazing. 

Glad you were that the first stage of this long, lonely journey was close to being over. 

If you only knew. 

* * *

*30 Days From Now, Smaug, 3rd Person* 

There was a smell, although certainly not a new one, coming from the direction of the main entrance. 

He was sleepy, although not overly so, and gave a quick sniff of the air. 

Man. One of the Lakemen, to be more precise. No matter where they were, he could always catch the stink of fish and water filth on them. 

The Man came closer, and within Smaug's line of sight. His lid was nearly closed, and the foolish Man was unaware that he was being watched. 

He knew what this was about. 

He knew what those grubby little hands were seeking for. Anything on this mass of wealth that he made his bed in...but...no? 

The man grabbed hastily, and seemed to be sorting. This piqued Smaug's curiosity. 

"I will find one...she can't say no to that." 

She? 

Ah, so this Man sought a prize to give to a woman. Smaugh laughed to himself. What these idiots would do for love. Or, rather, beauty... 

But all the same, it would have to be ended. 

"Tell me, man," he spoke, finally, raising his head, with a deep voice that chilled the Man to his core, "Tell me about she who is worth making the trip to your death."


End file.
